


Heavens Gate

by justasock_x



Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Jaskier, Breathplay, Choking, M/M, Marking, Mild D/s, Scent Kink, Scenting, Top!Geralt, bath scene, inhuman!jaskier, possessive!Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justasock_x/pseuds/justasock_x
Summary: If there were any more left of me, I'd give it to you.Geralt, Jaskier, and Yennefer winter in Kaer Morhen with Geralt's brothers.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894084
Comments: 6
Kudos: 184





	Heavens Gate

**Author's Note:**

> Fics in this series are oneshots loosely based on the songs from the album M A N I A, by Fall Out Boy. Not beta-read, all mistakes are my own. Fandom knowledge comes exclusively from the TV series, other fics, and cursory Googling.

“Can you both,” Geralt managed through gritted teeth, “shut the absolute _fuck_ up for five minutes?” The bickering behind him ceased, but he could _hear_ the pair rolling their eyes. 

“I don’t know why we can’t just portal there,” Jaskier grumbled after a brief moment of blessed silence. Geralt sighed.

“I think it’s part of his stoic Witcher act,” Yennefer answered, just as irate. Geralt brought Roach to a stop, and the two horses behind him slowed as well.

“Do you two realize the ancient magic that guards our keep is such that one wrong move from an unknown force could have that force incinerated?” he asked, voice soft.

“Hardly,” Yennefer disagreed. He was sure she was just being contrary. “I’ve seen great magic, Geralt. I’m one of the most powerful sorceresses on this Continent.”

“Sure,” Geralt agreed, shrugging. “Have you heard the tales of Merlin, Yennefer? The bedtime stories for children of the greatest mage who ever lived?”

“You’re trying to tell me Merlin Himself has blessed the mutants?” Yennefer asked derisively. “They don’t even know if He really existed, Geralt. Gods.”

“He did exist,” Geralt argued, turning back to face forward and nudge Roach into a trot. His words only started a new argument between the two behind him, this time on the validity of his claims. They were close to the keep, however, and he ignored them in order to concentrate, straining his senses for the hidden trail. 

“Maybe Merlin is my father,” Jaskier offered cheerfully, ignoring Yennefer’s scoff.

“I doubt it bard,” she sniffed disdainfully. “You’ve got all the magic of a horsefly in you.”

Jaskier’s shout of outrage was drowned out by Geralt calling to them, “Here, hurry.”

The two fell silent as they fell in behind the Witcher, who was staring intently at an unremarkable break in the treeline, bisected by a thin, muddy stream. Jaskier’s blue eyes met Yennefer’s violet ones behind Geralt’s back, and they shrugged at each other and turned back to facing forward.

“Okay, Geralt. Now what?” Yennefer asked eventually, tugging her thick cloak tighter around herself. “It’s getting colder by the minute.”

“The rest on foot,” he decided, dismounting swiftly and taking Roach by the reins. “The trail is probably already starting to ice over, mind your step.” With that advice, Geralt drew a sign and then began to walk forward, Yennefer and Jaskier dismounting and following suit. Jaskier noticed immediately that this forest was darker than the one they had just been in. The sun was still in the sky a moment ago, but as the bard looked around he could see twilight, a few stars flickering between the thick trees above them and the moon fat and full.

“Is it just me or is it colder?” he whined, shivering and rubbing his hands together where he grasped his horse’s reins. He had named her Sugar, and he adored her. He made a mental note to give her a treat when they reached their destination. She’d been working hard.

“It’s just you,” Yennfer answered, deadpan, but her voice was shaky and the wind picking up whipped her dark hair around her face. 

“Not much farther,” Geralt shouted back, and Jaskier looked up to see but lost his footing and went down with a shout of alarm.

Geralt was at his side in an instant, helping him to stand and dusting off his clothes. “Are you alright?” he asked, brushing the snow from the bard’s hair. Jaskier blew out a breath.

“Yes. Just a little sore. You can rub it better later,” he teased quietly, fixing his cloak around himself and gesturing for Geralt to lead them on.

Yennefer let out an unladylike snort but didn’t comment, and soon they were approaching the big wooden doors of the keep. Two enormous gargoyles flanked the worn stone steps, but they were blurred from time and it was hard to decipher what they used to resemble. Jaskier’s eyes were roving nonstop, taking in the big barn on the property for the horses and the training grounds off to the side where a trio of men spoke quietly while they sharpened their swords.

“Do they not realize how cold it is?” the bard complained, shuddering and clutching his cloak to himself once Geralt had led them into the entrance hall of the keep. The horses were grazing about outside, Geralt confident that they wouldn’t wander. 

“They’re Witchers, bard,” Yennfer said dryly as she shed her cloak, shaking it out and hanging it on one of the hooks next to the door. “I’m sure they’re used to far worse than cold.” 

“Still,” Jaskier insisted, frowning and folding his arms, his cloak still wrapped around him. “You’d think they’d do that in the keep. Though it’s not much warmer in here,” he acknowledged, glancing around with a sour expression. “Honestly. How are you two not freezing?”

Geralt laughed and helped Jaskier remove his cloak, handing the bard a thick blanket from his pack to wrap around his shoulders. “At least you’ll enjoy the baths,” Geralt said, piquing the bard’s interest. 

Jaskier wanted to prod, but approaching footsteps caught his attention and soon he was staring at the tallest, broadest man he’d ever seen. A large scar started at his right temple and ran down his cheek, thinning to a whisper at his jaw and giving his right eye an odd droop. His hair was dark gray and close cropped, and his beard was trimmed and a shade lighter than his hair, hints of silver lightening the gray.

“Vesemir,” Geralt said warmly, striding forward to shake the man’s hand. Vesemir’s lips quirked and he reached out, the two Witchers meeting in a firm handshake. Jaskier was amazed at just how much bigger the other Witcher looked when Geralt was standing next to him. Geralt was a big man, tall and broad, and he dwarfed Jaskier in every conceivable way. The idea of a man even _bigger_ than Geralt was something Jaskier had not considered. He looked up, up, up, into Vesemir’s scarred face and light yellow eyes, and offered a small wave, wincing at the cold chill that snuck into his blanket when he did so.

“Pleasure to meet you, good sir,” the bard chirped, struggling to hide the chatter of his teeth. “Thank you greatly for allowing Geralt to bring us here. It’s quite, um, cozy,” he offered, tightening his grip on his blanket and pulling it closer. 

Vesemir raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak to Jaskier, turning instead to Geralt. “Show them to a couple rooms, would you? And Eskel wants to speak with you once you’re settled. Maybe he’ll help you settle the horses if you ask,” the elder offered, clapping Geralt on the shoulder before departing. Yennefer quirked a brow.

“I never thought I’d meet someone less talkative than you, Geralt,” she commented, rolling her eyes. 

“Come on,” he huffed, golden eyes flashing. “I’ll show you both to your rooms.” 

Geralt led the pair up a stone staircase of questionable integrity, stopping halfway up to enter a door that neither bard nor witch had noticed in the alcove. It revealed a short hallway that led to two sets of doors. 

“Here,” Geralt grumbled, shoving one door open and gesturing for Yennefer to enter. “Bedroom and sitting room here. Door across the way is the washroom. I’ll bring your things up from Athena when I come back from speaking with my brothers,” he said, referring to Yennefer’s sleek, mahogany colored mare. 

Geralt turned to leave the room, but the mage grabbed his sleeve and he turned to glance at her, silver brow raised.

“Thank you,” she said after a silent, tense moment, staring at him with violet eyes dark from some unidentifiable emotion. 

“Hm,” he answered, shaking her off as he left and closed the door behind him.

“Where am I staying?” Jaskier asked immediately, waggling his brows.

“Where do you want to stay?” Geralt questioned, smirk playing around his mouth. Jaskier rolled his eyes and huffed.

“Please let me warm your bed, Witcher,” he teased, voice low and suggestive. Geralt growled in warning, and Jaskier giggled, delighted. 

“Watch yourself, bard,” Geralt said sternly, but he continued up the staircase and led Jaskier to the room at the top where he stayed when he was at the keep. He paused briefly at the door, eyes catching on the worn silver knocker in the shape of a wolf’s head. No one aside from Geralt or his brothers had ever been in this room. Certainly he’d never brought a lover to his bed in Kaer Morhen. Geralt suddenly felt shy, against all reason. If he could trust anyone with his soft insides, it was his fearless bard, who was more than he appeared and followed Geralt without question no matter the circumstances they found themselves in. Jaskier had devoted himself to Geralt entirely. Geralt was determined to be worthy of that regard. 

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier,” he offered as he opened the door and stepped inside, leaving it open for Jaskier to follow. Jaskier immediately set his lute down on the modest bed and began poking around. His long fingers danced over letters and maps on Geralt’s worn wooden desk, picked up and thumbed through a few of the books on the wobbly nightstand, and held the tattered and faded photograph of his mother that Geralt kept tucked inside a book of Scripture he hadn’t read in years.

Geralt watched, uncomfortable and twitchy for some reason he couldn’t name. His stomach was tight, and his golden eyes were narrowed and focused intently on Jaskier as the bard moved around to examine things. Jaskier moved over to Geralt's bed, sitting down and testing the give of the mattress before he let out a low, pleased sound.

“Hm, it’s not silk but it’s a damn finer bed than the ground,” the bard decided, grinning shamelessly. Geralt let out a snort and shook his head. 

“Up to your impossible standards then, songbird?” he teased, voice gruff. Jaskier’s eyes went soft and Geralt shifted uncomfortably, feeling exposed.

“You’ve exceeded them as usual, Witcher,” he admitted, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. _Gods_ , Geralt couldn’t help but think, _he’s gorgeous. And he’s mine._ The wolf in him purred at the knowledge.

“You did, however, mention a bath,” Jaskier pressed, standing and moving to rest his hands on Geralt’s chest. “And I would love to soak off the grime of travel.”

Geralt pressed his nose to Jaskier’s crown, inhaling the scent of him and settling an arm at his waist. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s bathe, bard.”

Geralt waited while Jaskier gathered his soaps and salts and oils, and then he took the bard to the door off to the side of the armoire in the room. He pushed it open and revealed the washroom, leading Jaskier inside. The bard let out a small noise of shock. The keep had been built on a hot spring, and Geralt turned the hardware in the huge porcelain tub and smirked privately when Jaskier let out a gasp as steamy water began to pour. The large window that overlooked the mountain range began to fog over with condensation.

“Magic?” he asked quietly, moving to stand next to Geralt and reaching out to run his fingers over the finely crafted tub. Geralt shook his head.

“An underground spring,” he admitted. “But still, enjoyable for a fussy bard after weeks of hard travel.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I’m not fussy,” he protested, folding his arms.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said pointedly, “take off your clothes and let me wash you.”

Jaskier held his pout for a mere moment before the lure of the hot water proved too much, and he stripped himself naked efficiently. Geralt couldn’t help his mouth watering as his eyes roved the bard’s small, firm body. He was incredibly lithe and getting stronger from their travels, and Geralt had a sudden desire to bite bruises up and down his strong golden thighs that would last for days. They were of a similar height, Geralt only a couple inches taller at most, but the Witcher was so broad and bulky compared to the lean muscle of Jaskier’s more pampered frame.

Jaskier stood bare before him as he fiddled with his salts and bath oils, sniffing a few before making his selections and scenting the water with chamomile and lavender, a hint of sage. Geralt inhaled and nodded approvingly. Jaskier had been less heavy handed with his oils since Geralt had admitted to him that they were sometimes too strong and overpowered the bard’s natural sunshine smell. It touched something small and hidden inside of the Witcher that his bard had altered his hygiene routine to better suit Geralt’s preferences. 

“Are you going to join me?” Jaskier asked, stepping into the water and settling down with an involuntary groan of relaxation. “Gods, this is nice.”

Immediately, the bard began to wash himself clean as Geralt stripped his own clothing away and left it in a pile on the floor. Without a word, Jaskier slid forward in the large tub, providing space for the Witcher to slot in behind him. Geralt did so, letting out his own noise of pleasure as his tense muscles began to relax in the heat of the steaming, scented water. Immediately, Jaskier handed the soft, soapy cloth to the Witcher behind him, and Geralt took it and began to gently but thoroughly wash Jaskier’s shoulders and back, rubbing firmly as the knotted muscles gave under the spontaneous massage. 

“Let me wash your hair,” Geralt said after he had cleaned the bard’s back. Jaskier let out a quiet noise of assent and placed a bottle in Geralt’s expectant hand. The bard was practically boneless, resting tucked up against Geralt’s chest and smelling of pleasure and satisfaction. The wolf in Geralt crooned at seeing his lover so relaxed as the Witcher cared for him. Geralt dug strong fingers into Jaskier’s scalp, the bard nearly purring as the Witcher worked out knots and dirt and sweat with firm but gentle passes of his hands.

Jaskier let himself be maneuvered when Geralt finished with his hair, and the Witcher rearranged the smaller man so that they were pressed chest to chest. Jaskier’s eyes were half-lidded, and he tipped his head back easily at Geralt’s direction, suds sliding down his shoulders and neck as Geralt rinsed his hair. Geralt couldn’t resist leaning in for a kiss, and their mouths met gently and briefly, pressing together before Jaskier pulled away and plucked the cloth from Geralt’s lax fingers.

“My turn to wash you up, wolf,” the bard teased, wetting the rag and beginning to scrub gently over Geralt’s thick chest and shoulders, down along his strong arms. Jaskier took care to work the dirt out from underneath Geralt’s fingernails and the creases of his knuckles, and by the time the bard was finished with his upper half, Geralt’s own golden eyes were blown wide with lust and satisfaction. Jaskier was humming under his breath as he made his way down Geralt’s body, washing his legs and feet and wrapping one soapy hand around his cock to deliver a few firm pumps, ignoring the thickening in response. Geralt let out a low growl when Jaskier released his cock and the bard grinned, mirth twinkling in his blue eyes. 

“I have to get your hair,” he admonished, picking up the bottle and squirting some soap into his hands. “Dunk.”

Geralt did as he was bid, and he emerged from the scented water with his hair streaming. He blinked the water out of his eyes and then dipped his head forward to allow the bard in his lap to scrub at his hair. Jaskier worked diligently and for far too long, as far as Geralt was concerned. The steam from the water was cooling slowly, but Jaskier’s scent in his nose and touch on his scalp made his blood thunder in his ears. 

“Enough,” he grumbled after a few more moments. “I’m as clean as I’m likely to get, bard.” 

Jaskier sighed but let his hands fall from Geralt’s now-clean hair. His eyelashes were clumped together from the fragrant steam, and Geralt watched a bead of water drip from the fringe of his hair and down his nose. Carefully, Geralt took hold of Jaskier’s hips, guiding him until he was settled more securely on the Witcher’s lap and their groins were pressed snug. Jaskier’s arms moved to rest on Geralt’s shoulders, and he stared intently at his Witcher while Geralt rubbed his thumbs in mindless circles over the soft skin of Jaskier’s hips.

“I think you should kiss me now,” Jaskier murmured, eyes fond. Geralt smirked and pretended to consider it for a moment. Jaskier took the choice from him, bringing his head down the bit needed to press their mouths together. Geralt let out a quiet noise and tightened his hold on the bard’s hips, Jaskier’s fingers running over his scarred back gently as they exchanged lazy presses of lips and teases of teeth. 

Geralt shifted under Jaskier, his cock beginning to firm up as the bard wriggled in his lap. Even kissing, slow and lazy as they were, was enough to get the bard trembling for more, and Geralt purred in his chest as he slid his hands around to cup Jaskier’s firm bottom. Jaskier broke their lazy kissing to pant against Geralt’s mouth, lips pink and swollen, and Geralt tightened his grip on the firm globes of flesh in his hands, certain to leave bruises as Jaskier’s breath hitched and he whined for more.

“Gods, your hands,” the bard crooned, pressing wet kisses to Geralt’s chest and left shoulder. “I could have one on my throat and one inside me and still want more of you.” The Witcher let out a groan that sounded almost breathless, and Jaskier smirked and looked up at him through his lashes, coy. 

“Geralt, my darling Witcher, would you like that? To fill me up and own me so completely?”

“I would.” His voice was rough to his own ears. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “I’d own every part of you, Jaskier, if you would let me.”

“Oh, but you already do,” Jaskier admitted, rocking his hips in Geralt’s lap so sinuously that the lapping water from his movements was soothing rather than distracting. His cheeks were flushed bright, his eyes heavy and lust-filled but open and honest. “I already belong to you so completely, Witcher. I have from the start.”

Geralt growled in response and tugged Jaskier into him for a deep kiss, tongues exploring until the bard had to pull away to breathe. 

“Please fuck me,” he managed, eyes dark and intent on Geralt’s. “Let me feel you, Witcher.”

Geralt snagged one of the mostly-full vials of oil that his bard had brought into the washroom and popped the cork, drizzling it over his rough fingers and oiling them thoroughly before letting his hand drift to the inviting curve of Jaskier’s ass. The bard shivered slightly and raised himself up onto his knees, tilting his hips and baring himself completely to the Witcher’s searching hand. Once discovered, Geralt took the time to toy with Jaskier’s hole, rubbing his slick fingertips over the giving muscle but never pressing inside. Jaskier made little breathy noises as he teased the quivering flesh, feeling as it grew pliant and rosy, begging to be filled.

“Please,” the bard finally whined, voice high and thready. “Gods, Geralt, please.” 

Geralt made a thoughtful noise and Jaskier whimpered. The Witcher wanted to tease, not torture, and so he allowed his index finger to firm up and sink inside the soft heat of Jaskier’s ass. The bard let out a low moan of delight, hips arching up into the pressure until Geralt’s finger was buried as deep as it could go. He began to twist and prod at Jaskier’s soft insides, gently coaxing him open to accept another searching finger, which turned into three and then four, all working and twisting and stretching to relax the bard so that he’d experience nothing but heavy pleasure when Geralt pushed inside of him. 

Geralt finally pulled his fingers out of the bard once Jaskier was limp against him and moaning on each exhalation. He coated his cock with a generous amount of oil, stroking himself to spread the slickness while doing his best to keep Jaskier comfortable in his lap. The bard squirmed when Geralt pressed the head of his cock to his twitching, empty hole, and then he went completely still and expectant. Geralt, not wanting to disappoint, pressed himself inside the well-stretched entrance, groaning as Jaskier’s body tightened in response but allowed him to continue in one smooth thrust until he was buried balls deep. Jaskier’s breath hitched as he bottomed out, and he rubbed one palm soothingly up and down the bard’s side as though he were a spooked foal. 

“Always so big,” Jaskier groaned, hips beginning to rock almost thoughtlessly on the cock pressing inside of him. Geralt gave a sound of his own as Jaskier’s hips picked up pace, and he grabbed a hold of the bard’s waist to help him gain momentum. Soon, he was bouncing on Geralt’s lap, his body covered in sweat and bathwater as he chased his orgasm, thighs burning even though Geralt was doing most of the work as his strong arms worked effortlessly to raise and lower Jaskier on his cock. 

“Harder, harder, harder,” the bard demanded, digging his teeth into the meat of Geralt’s shoulder and causing the Witcher to growl threateningly in his chest. Jaskier just sucked at the spot until Geralt tightened his grip to the point of almost-pain on his hips, slamming him up and down as if he weighed nothing, Jaskier unable to do much but scrabble against Geralt’s wet chest for purchase. His nails skidded along the firm muscle, and he cried out helplessly as his cock twitched and dribbled copiously between them. 

“Thought you wanted to come with my hand on your throat, songbird?” Geralt crooned, voice rough and deep in his chest. Jaskier whined at the tease but Geralt simply laughed and lifted the bard from his cock. He rose and stepped out of the tub, leaving a confused and needy Jaskier behind, to grab a bath sheet and dry himself. Once done, he dropped that sheet and picked up another, coming to the edge of the tub and offering it to the bard. Jaskier stood on shaky legs and accepted the linen, drying himself off quickly and then reaching up to pull Geralt into another kiss. The Witcher obliged, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist and tugging him close. Their bodies slotted together effortlessly and Jaskier ground forward eagerly until Geralt stilled him with a firm grip to both of his hips. Bruises were already forming there in the shape of Geralt’s long fingers and wide palms, and his cock twitched to see them blooming in red and purple on Jaskier’s skin.

Geralt pulled back and pressed one big hand against Jaskier’s throat, tipping his head back until he was peering down his own nose, his throat entirely exposed. The Witcher leaned forward, inhaling deeply where Jaskier’s neck met his shoulder, pressing his mouth briefly to the skin before pulling back again and tightening his grip on the slender neck still in his grasp. Jaskier’s breath hitched but he didn’t move, staring at Geralt without blinking.

“I’m going to squeeze tighter,” Geralt informed Jaskier, who made a noise of acknowledgment. “You’re going to squeeze my wrist when it’s almost too much. Understand?” Jaskier hummed again, expression beatific. Geralt stared at him for another moment before he began to tighten his grip. His strong fingers dug into the sides of Jaskier’s throat, and he kept pressing until Jaskier’s grip tightened on his wrist. The Witcher held his grip for a moment, watching Jaskier’s eyes go hazy and his mouth drop open in pleasure before he released his hold and the bard gulped in a breath.

“Gods, that was perfect,” Jaskier managed after a moment, his voice raspy. He cleared his throat. “Again please, preferably with your perfect cock inside of me.”

Geralt smirked at the demand and used his light grip around the bard’s throat to guide him out of the washroom and towards Geralt’s bed, covered with thick wool and furs and already smelling like the two of them entwined. Jaskier stumbled and Geralt growled, annoyed at the delay. He gave the bard no warning, simply scooped him up and tossed him over his shoulder, carrying him to the comfortable bed and then dumping him down on top of it. Jaskier squawked indignantly as he bounced on the mattress, blowing out a breath.

“You could have warned me,” he whined petulantly, sticking out his lower lip. Geralt’s eyes went soft and he crawled into bed over the bard, bracketing Jaskier’s smaller frame with his bulk.

“I’m very sorry,” he murmured, a touch of a laugh playing at his eyes. “Can I make it up to you?” he offered.

“Hm,” Jaskier mused, bringing one of his hands up to cup the Witcher’s strong jaw, running his thumb softly over the stubble covered cheek. “I can think of a few things,” he decided before he brought their mouths together, pressing his grin straight into Geralt’s lips. They kissed like that for several moments, Geralt gradually lowering himself over Jaskier, spreading his thighs wide so they were pressed together from hips to mouths. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Jaskier finally demanded breathlessly, lips shining and eyes blown. “Please, I’m ready for you.”

“I know,” Geralt murmured in response, taking himself in hand and pressing into Jaskier slowly, his own muscles tensing to stop the urge to thrust and _take_ that nearly overwhelmed him every time they did this. Jaskier’s body was just as greedy as the rest of him, hole flexing and working to suck him in before it was really ready to do so, hips moving and twisting to take more before he really could.

“Stay still,” Geralt snarled, voice low and almost pleading.

“No,” Jaskier bit back, eyes dark. “Fuck me like you mean it, Witcher, or don’t fuck me at all.”

Geralt let out a growl and snapped his hips forward, one hand digging into Jaskier’s hip to hold him in place for the brutal fucking while his other hand drifted up to rest against Jaskier’s throat. The bard blinked slowly and then nodded slightly, tongue flicking out to lick over his lips. Geralt grinned, teeth flashing, before he tightened his grip, restricting Jaskier’s airflow and beginning to fuck him right into the mattress.

Jaskier let out a high whine as he was fucked, unable to get more than tiny sips of air as Geralt’s fingers flexed on his throat. His vision blurred slightly once Geralt found his prostate and kept fucking into it, bumping it hard on every thrust as he allowed Jaskier a mere breath or two before stealing it away again.

Jaskier drifted as Geralt used his body, his mind numb to everything but the pleasure and the sharp thrusts of Geralt’s hips as he was fucked thoroughly. His eyes fluttered and suddenly Geralt’s grip around his throat was gone, and Jaskier was jerking and coming with a hoarse cry, coating his stomach in sticky ropes as his cock erupted untouched between them. Geralt let out a wounded sound and pressed his sweaty forehead into Jaskier’s neck, hips thrusting hard for a brief moment before he stilled and groaned, filling Jaskier hotly with his seed. 

Everything was still for a moment before Jaskier let out a soft noise of contentment, and Geralt’s mouth quirked as he gently pulled free of his bard’s body. Jaskier rolled onto his side, yawning and burrowing his face into the blankets. Geralt left him to retrieve a wet cloth and came back to the bard dozing lightly, soft huffs of air leaving him. One arm rested under his cheek, the other was curled into his chest, and one leg was drawn up. Geralt’s eyes were drawn to the apex of his thighs and his spread cheeks, taking in the reddened, swollen hole that leaked with his come. He could smell the two of them mixed together, himself inside of Jaskier, and it made something primal in him hum with satisfaction. He wiped the bard down carefully, making sure not to wake him, and then he wiped himself off and redressed, going to seek out his brother.

Geralt found Eskel in the stables, brushing out his mount and trying to convince Roach to let him close enough to rein her in. Geralt let out a whistle and Roach trotted over to him, bumping him with her nose.

“Hey girl,” he murmured, patting her flank and taking her by the reins, leading her into the stable to start settling her in. He took off her tack and picked up a brush, beginning to work on her coat and waiting for Eskel to speak.

“Hard travels?” the other Witcher eventually asked as he filled his horse’s feed trough. 

“Not more so than usual,” Geralt answered, voice neutral. “You?”

“Took care of a few werewolves on the way in some noname village, not enough coin to go around. You know how it is.”

“Mm,” Geralt answered, turning to grab an apple from his pack and offering it to Roach, who nickered before taking it between her teeth and beginning to munch. 

“You’ve got some lackeys this year,” Eskel finally acknowledged after a tense silence.

“Mm,” Geralt repeated, shifting on his feet and refusing to meet the other Witcher’s gaze.

“Geralt,” Eskel said, almost frustrated, and Geralt glanced up to meet his brother’s eyes.

“The bard reeks of you. You’ve never mentioned him,” Eskel said, folding his arms and leaning against his horse’s stable. “And you bring him here? And that mage? She’s shifty, Geralt. I don’t trust her.” 

Geralt let out a rush of breath through his nose. “Don’t trust Yennefer,” he advised, lip quirking. Eskel laughed, and the tension between the two broke.

“Jaskier is...my lover,” Geralt admitted, straightening his stance and folding his arms, defensive.

“Geralt, I don’t give a shit. Any Witcher worth his salt can tell he’s your lover. I’m just asking why he’s here now. You’ve never brought him before.”

“I want to talk to Vesemir about him. And you lot,” Geralt admitted, relaxing his posture and rubbing the back of his neck, almost sheepish. “Jaskier isn’t human, from what we can tell. He doesn’t know what he is, only remembers a normal human childhood. Yennefer can’t figure anything out from the tests she’s been able to run, aside from the fact that he’s _not_ human. I can’t detect anything nonhuman about him, Eskel; my medallion doesn’t so much as twitch in his presence.”

Eskel made a thoughtful noise, stroking a hand through his grizzled red beard. “Fey, perhaps? A changeling?” 

Geralt shook his head. “Don’t you think the medallion would pick up on it?”

“Not if he isn’t tapped into any fey magic. He’s not a monster, right? That’s what the medallion tracks. Blood and murder and magic, right? Maybe the bard’s just...dormant.” Eskel shrugged. 

“Maybe,” Geralt answered, but it didn’t sit right with him and he brought the conversation up to Yennefer when he dropped her bags off. The horses had been settled in the stables with plenty of hay and oats to keep them happy, and Geralt couldn’t stop thinking about what Eskel had said. Jaskier’s sister had said she thought her stepmother was part fey. The mage Magda, who had kidnapped Jaskier, had said the same. 

“Do you think Jaskier could be a changeling?” he asked after throwing Yennefer’s door open and depositing her bags on the foot of her bed. She stood from the desk she’d been seated at, abandoning her letter to come inspect her belongings.

“I doubt it,” the mage said after a moment of consideration. “Even a trace amount of fey, I should be able to detect. I don’t get anything from him.”

Geralt gave a frustrated huff. “How are we going to figure this out?”

“I’m working with some of my contacts, Geralt, give me some time,” Yennefer answered, rolling her eyes. “Get out. I want to bathe before dinner.” 

Geralt returned to his room, pleased to see that Jaskier was still sprawled out, sleeping on his stomach with his mouth slightly parted. Despite the near three decades their lives had entwined, Jaskier looked as young and spry as he had all those years ago in Posada. It made something in Geralt’s chest clench tight and then relax, releasing something he suspected was syrup into his veins, thick and cloying. The setting sun was shimmering off of the snow and shining through the window, lighting Jaskier up in gold and bathing his chestnut hair in a halo. The bard looked nearly ethereal, and Geralt couldn’t help but be drawn to lay down next to him. He let out a hum of pleased surprise when the bard immediately shifted towards him, and he carefully readjusted to let Jaskier press firmly against his side. The smaller man let out a quiet huff and settled again, breath resuming its even pace. Geralt let out a content noise of his own and settled as well, meditating before dinner.

The pair rose lazily when they awoke, the large bell Vesemir used to announce supper clanging in the distance. They traded kisses and gentle caresses until Jaskier pulled himself away with a laugh.

“If we don’t get up now we’re going to miss supper,” he admitted, his cock beginning to twitch with interest against his thigh.

“Hm,” Geralt acknowledged, moving to separate as well. He stood and readjusted his clothing, watching Jaskier flit about and redress himself before fluffing his hair.

“Nothing to be done for the bruises,” the bard lamented apologetically, wringing his hands. “I haven’t got anything high enough in the neck.”

Geralt laughed, a short bark that sounded rusty and unpracticed. “Jaskier, they know I’m fucking you. That we’re involved. Lovers.” He cleared his throat, feeling unsure all of a sudden. Maybe Jaskier hadn’t wanted anyone to know.

“Oh,” Jaskier said, surprised. A pleased flush worked its way over his cheeks, and he smiled softly. “Alright, then.”

Geralt gave him a small smile in return and Jaskier lit up, beaming. “Alright then,” the Witcher repeated, spontaneously offering the bard his arm. Jaskier looked delighted and accepted graciously, and he led the smaller man down the stairs and into the hall where the Witchers had dinner and meetings together during the winters they shared at the keep. The hall was large, with dark wooden floors and a raised dais at the far end. Large windows were covered by thick, dusty drapes, and different banners for the various Witcher Schools hung around the room, tattered and muted with age.

Eskel and Lambert were deep in conversation with Yennefer when the pair entered the hall, and Geralt and Jaskier moved to join them. The group had gathered at one of the tables closest to one of several big hearths in the room. Jaskier took the seat next to Yennefer, leaving Geralt the one on Lambert’s other side. Yennefer glanced at him and smirked, gaze honing in on the bruises littering his throat. Her eyes slid down his body and he blushed under her heated perusal, thinking for a fleeting moment that she could see right through his clothes to the handprints on his hips and thighs, the bite marks on his ass and his reddened, still-open hole.

“Settling in?” she asked mildly, taking a sip of wine from the goblet in front of her. Jaskier coughed delicately before making an affirming noise.

“Yes, me as well. Have you tried the baths yet, bard? They’re divine.”

Jaskier coughed again, grabbing a glass from the table and pouring water into it from a pitcher before taking a deep drink. 

Yennefer smirked. “Alright there, buttercup?”

“Fine thanks,” Jaskier answered faintly, cheeks pink.

Dinner was roasted boar and lively conversation, the Witchers catching up on their time apart while Jaskier asked probing questions and Geralt insisted that they didn’t have to answer him. Lambert and Eskel seemed delighted by Jaskier, and the bard equally taken with them. Geralt could feel his chest go tight when he found himself watching Jaskier talk animatedly to his brothers, the Witchers clearly as engaged with Jaskier as the bard was with them. Yennefer and Vesemir were deep in discussions about the Nilfgaardian army strategy, and Geralt was content to eat and listen, offering little to the conversation but feeling himself warm as he watched his lover integrate himself so seamlessly with Geralt’s only real family. 

Eventually, dinner was cleared and they sat at the table while the fire burned low, talking in low voices. Their numbers dwindled every year, and they spent some time talking about those they had lost, fights they hadn’t thought they’d live through, and the things they’d seen. Jaskier asked questions and offered support when the conversations got too heavy. He was good that way, Geralt had realized. Jaskier could so easily switch from teasing and flirting to soothing and calming. 

“I’d like to ask all of you about a curiosity I’ve discovered,” Geralt said finally during a lull in the conversation. Jaskier went rigid beside him, and Geralt found his hand on his lap and gave it a firm squeeze. “Jaskier, as it turns out, isn’t human.”

Lambert immediately interrupted, eyes narrowed. “Whaddya mean he ain’t human?” he demanded, crossing his arms and leaning forward in his seat. Jaskier shrank back a bit, and Geralt growled quietly. Vesemir held a hand up.

“Everyone calm down,” he murmured, waiting until the tension dissipated and both Witchers relaxed before he gestured for Geralt to resume.

“Yennefer of Vengerburg is the most powerful sorceress I know,” the Witcher continued, “and she can’t figure out what he is despite her knowledge. Jaskier has no memories of anything besides a perfectly ordinary human childhood. Yennefer is currently working with some of her contacts to do some research with the test results we currently have.”

“We’ve never seen the likes of him?” Eskel asked after a moment, yellow eyes flicking to Jaskier. 

“No,” Geralt answered. “My medallion has never indicated that Jaskier is inhuman.”

Vesemir made a thoughtful noise before he turned to Yennefer. “I’d like to look at your test results, if you don’t mind,” he said politely. The mage nodded in response.

“Of course,” she said, pushing herself back from the table. “I’ll fetch them immediately.”

“Tell us about your childhood, boy,” Vesemir urged Jaskier, leaning forward intently. “It’s alright. It’s clear you don’t mean any harm.” 

Jaskier had wedged himself almost entirely behind Geralt, and he peeked around the Witcher’s shoulder to reveal one blue eye. Vesemir stared patiently, and Jaskier eventually pushed himself back into his seat and met the older Witcher’s gaze.

“I don’t know much that would help,” Jaskier admitted, nibbling his lower lip. “My mother was murdered when I was quite young. No one ever proved who did it. My older sister and I think it was our stepmother. Royal bitch, she is.” He snorted. “My father was stern and rigid but not overly cruel. I refused his marriage plans and left in a huff, and it was quite the scandal for a while. I don’t go home much.” The bard shrugged and smiled a little. “Sorry.”

Vesemir gave him a small, encouraging smile. “We’ll need more detail than that, but maybe another time. You’ve had a long trip. Perhaps it’s time to turn in.”

“That would be wonderful,” Jaskier agreed readily, standing immediately and stifling a yawn in the crook of his elbow. “I am quite exhausted.”

“I’m sure,” Vesemir said graciously, waving his hand. “Geralt, I’d like to speak with you in the morning.”

“Of course,” the Witcher responded, standing and bidding the room good night. He and Jaskier walked together up the steps to their room, and when Geralt laid down in the room he’d lived in as he became a man, he turned into the weight of Jaskier in his arms and thought this might be what it felt like to be in love. Jaskier was turning out to be more of an enigma than Geralt had ever anticipated, but he found himself drawn into the bard’s life regardless. Destiny wasn’t done with them yet, it would seem. 

**Author's Note:**

> The hot spring was inspired by another series of Witcher fics I read. I'm looking for it now, and as soon as I find it I will link it here. It was a wonderfully written series. If anyone knows it, please let me know in the comments!
> 
> EDIT: The lovely dtkchampFri reminded me about An Exaltation of Wolves by round_robin which also features the springs, but I remember another series as well.


End file.
